“Doubtless this sailor-man is his minister—observe his costly badge of office!”
I let them go on until they got tired, and then I said:
“Yes, I am his minister, The Boss; and tomorrow you will hear that from Camelot which—”
I got no further. They drowned me out with joyous derision. But presently there was silence; for the sheriffs of London, in their official robes, with their subordinates, began to make a stir which indicated that business was about to begin. In the hush which followed, our crime was recited, the death warrant read, then everybody uncovered while a priest uttered a prayer.
Then a slave was blindfolded; the hangman unslung his rope. There lay the smooth road below us, we upon one side of it, the banked multitude wailing its other side—a good clear road, and kept free by the police—how good it would be to see my five hundred horsemen come tearing down it! But no, it was out of the possibilities. I followed its receding thread out into the distance—not a horseman on it, or sign of one.
There was a jerk, and the slave hung dangling; dangling and hideously squirming, for his limbs were not tied.
A second rope was unslung, in a moment another slave was dangling.
In a minute a third slave was struggling in the air. It was dreadful. I turned away my head a moment, and when I turned back I missed the king! They were blindfolding him! I was paralyzed; I couldn’t move, I was choking, my tongue was petrified. They finished blindfolding him, they led him under the rope. I couldn’t shake off that clinging impotence. But when I saw them put the noose around his neck, then